For King and Country
by MuttsandMoggies
Summary: The year is 1193 and England's King Richard is missing. The king's mother, the formidable dowager queen, Eleanor of Aquitaine, charges the Earl and Countess of Langley and their household of spies with the rescue of England's king. AU/Historical Fiction. Characters: All. Chapters 3 and 4 now up!
1. Prologue

Title: _For King and Country_

Author: MuttsandMoggies

Category: Covert Affairs/AU/ Historical fiction

Rating: T+

Summary: 1193, England's King Richard is missing. The king's mother, the formidable Eleanor of Aquitaine, charges the Earl and Countess of Langley and their household of spies with the rescue of England's king.

Disclaimer: The framework belongs to history, the characters to the USA Network and the brilliant Covert Affairs writers. The unmitigated gall of throwing them all together in yet another long and convoluted story, that's all mine.

* * *

_**Author's Note**__: I'm usually the first to back away from AU time bending fics. They're not canon! It's not right! If the CA creators had wanted this alternate universe they would have written it that way from the outset, damn it!_

_That said, I've gone and done the unthinkable and combined my two passions, history and Covert Affairs. I've taken our beloved CA characters and dropped them into twelfth century Europe. Mea Culpa. Medieval Europe was rife with political intrigue, treachery, and geo-political power struggles to rival our own 21st century troubles. So, really not so different after all. _

_I created then deleted a Dramatis Personae page. I've tried to keep the characters recognizable, but if you're really confused, let me know._

_So now, for something completely different, but not really, I give you..._

**For King and Country**

**Prologue**

The Year of Our Lord 1192,

Acquileia

Perched upon the rocks, the small company of knights watched in shock as the ship broke apart on the rocks. They stood, immobile, in spite of the wind and wild surf that tore at their sodden garments, staring helplessly as a dozen of their companions, battered by the waves, and weighed down by their maille tunics, fought tide and tempest in their struggled to reach the shore.

"Richard, I can't just stand here and do nothing. I'm going back in," Arthur FitzRoy said, as he tore off his surcote. "We have to do something."

The taller man held him back. "Don't be a fool! We barely made it to the shore, ourselves."

"There must be something we can do! Chivalry dictates -"

"Devil take your bloody code of chivalry, Arthur! We need to get home."

"You do!"

"I need your counsels. I'll not risk my neck or yours for a passel of imprudent sailors. They knew the risk when they took my coin."

"So, you would leave them there to drown?" the knight said, disbelieving.

"They are lost. The best we can do is pray for their souls, and thank the Lord that we have survived."

"I cannot stand idly by and watch good men drown."

"Fine! Throw yourself in after them, if you think it will help! I'm certain your lady will take great comfort in knowing you died for a handful of flea-bitten, pox-ridden sailors. You've no sons to inherit your lands. Your dear countess is barren, so whoever marries her will likely take her dower lands, and then dispose of her. But you'll have paid your way into heaven, so -"

"Enough! You don't play fair... Your Majesty." He spit out the last two words.

"When has life ever been fair, Arthur? You, more than any of my men, should know that by now."

A faint and distant clanging pierced the din.

"Do you hear that? Church bells sounding the alarm. I daresay, a rescue is at hand. They may even find a rowboat and some poor wretch to aid those men.

More like they are rushing to salvage any treasure from the ship and ignoring the sailors' desperate pleas, Arthur thought, but he kept those thoughts to himself. Richard liked his illusions. Presenting him with reason only served to unleash the famous Plantagenet temper. Thus it had been with the late king, and so to it was with his heir.

"Come, let us find a way off of these rocks, and meet the good people of this town."

"Yes, sire."

"Oh, and remember. Here, we are but simple knights returning from the Holy Land. No 'majesties' and 'sires' until we are safely away. Understood?"

"Understood." Arthur FitzRoy, Earl of Langley, muttered a quick _kyrie, _and crossed himself. Casting one last grief-laden look at the men struggling in the surf, he hurried to join his brother.

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_And away we go :) Are you with me for the ride?_

_Thanks for reading. Please review._


	2. Chapter One

Chapter One

The Republic of Venice

November, the Year of Our Lord 1192

The Englishman pulled his hood down about his face, partly to shield his features, but mostly to block the raw rank wind, blowing off the lagoon. This Venice had nothing of the serene abode of Doges and merchant princes. In the early-falling dusk, the mist rose specter-like from the lagoon and canals, and swallowed entire piazze in the blink of an eye. It crept into every last nook and alleyway transforming _La Serenissima _into something otherworldly and sinister.

He watched briefly as the fog consumed the ships and dockyards of the Isola Gemini, then turned away from the lagoon, and hurried to his destination before the city was completely shrouded. He ducked behind the bake shop, and scarcely slowing his pace, examined the patch of wall he'd previously marked. A second chalk mark had joined his first. The rendezvous was set.

The tavern was mostly quiet. In a dimly lit corner a trio of harlots laughed at some bawdy quip. Scattered about the common room, a handful of sodden patrons hunched over their tankards, paying little heed to the hooded and cloaked foreigner in the doorway.

He gestured to the tavern keeper then made his way across the room to a nook in the shadow of the fireplace, where a small, ferret-faced man sat drinking.

The tavern keeper came with a tankard. "Will you pay now, _Signore_?"

"_Sì_, for myself and my friend here. And one for yourself," he added, sliding a handful of silver across the table, more than enough to cover the cost of their ales. "Now leave us. We have private matters to discuss."

The tavern-keeper palmed the coins. Gesturing to the room, he said, "These sots are well on their way to oblivion, and more than likely, the girls will soon retire. You will not be disturbed, _Signore_."

"See to it." He turned to his companion. ""What is your news?"

"You said you would pay."

"Your news first. If it is valuable, you will have your reward. I am a man of my word."

The smaller man considered this for a moment, then shrugged. He cast a quick glance over his shoulder then turned back to his companion. "Very well," he whispered and leaned in close as he continued,so no one else would hear.

The Englishman's eyes grew wide. "You are certain of this?" he asked.

"I saw it with my own eyes, _Signore_." "The ship, she struggled and strained, fighting tide and tempest. Her captain tried to bring her into the shelter of the river at Aquileia, but the sea was too fierce. She foundered on the rock. Praise be to God, only a handful of lives were lost."

"And how do you know it was his ship? It was reported lost months ago."

"It was a different ship. Did you not say, he would travel in the guise of an errant knight?"

The Englishman nodded. "Aye, a returning Crusader."

"The ship carried only a company of Templars, Signore. No trade goods. No pilgrims. Do you not think it odd that a ship's captain would brave the treacherous tides of November without thought to safety? No sailor worth his salt would undertake such a voyage, but for a princely fee." The man emptied his cup in one long draught. "A kingly fee, some might say. Another?" he asked raising his cup.

"Finish your story first."

The man grinned. "I saw him."

The Englishman was clearly taken aback.

"You were not expecting that, were you, _Signore_? But _sì, _by our blessed Lady herself, I saw him with my own eyes. I knew him at once. Tall, with red-gold hair and beard. He wore a Templar's humble surcote, but if he's a Templar, then I'm the Doge. Even half-drowned and bedraggled, he bore himself as a king."

The Englishman cursed under his breath. Could the man not even make an attempt to blend in? "So, where is he now?"

"Lodging, I imagine, in the guest rooms of the basilica, awaiting a new ship."

The Englishman rubbed at his chin and shook his head. "Why?"

The informant frowned in confusion. "To continue his journey home, of course."

"From Aquileia? Think upon it. Surely, there are more direct routes from the Holy Land to England?

"Then why was he there?"

"That's what you must find out." He stood, fished a gold ducat out of his pouch, and slid it across the table. The smaller man reached forward, but the Englishman kept his hand on the coin. "Have your drink, but just one, do you hear? Return to Aquileia. Ride hard. He will not tarry long on the coast. Follow him. I will make for the mountains. God willing, I'll reach him before his enemies know his whereabouts. Send news back to me when you can."

"How shall I reach you?"

"Send word along the trade routes. The merchants know me. Say you have news for Hugh Walker the wool trader."

* * *

Walker shoved open the stable doors with a clatter. "Benjamin! Rouse yourself, lad!" His unexpected return was met with a sharp cry and muffled whisper.

"Benjamin!"

"Anon, Master Hugh!" the apprentice replied, swinging down from the hayloft. He stood before his master, straightening his tunic, and brushing bits of straw from his hair. "You bellowed, sir?"

Hugh fought a grin. "Benjamin, rid yourself of the maid you've no doubt dishonored, and prepare our five best horses. We ride within the hour."

"What of our wares?"

"I've left them in the care of Gerard, the Fleming. He will take our goods to Padua, and see that we get a fair price for it. We will meet up again ere he reaches Paris."

"Can you trust him?"

"I've known Gerard longer than I've known you. He is a good friend and an honest man. He will not betray my trust."

"_Benzoino_ ..." A dark-eyed girl peered over the edge of the hayloft. "You return soon? I wait, _sì_?"

"Sorry, lass, t'were best you headed home. I have to leave."

_"Perché, Nino?" _she pleaded as she joined him.

Benjamin sighed. "_È complicato, bella,_" he said, brushing a kiss across her knuckles. _Mi dispiace.__"_

Her slap caught him by surprise. He gave a chuckle as she stormed away.

Walker shook his head. "Another one, Ben?"

"What can I say? The lasses find me irresistible."

"Aye? Well, I hope you're practicing your swordplay. Those pretty blue eyes of yours won't aid you much when you find yourself in a dark alley, surrounded by a score of irate brothers and fathers."

"They'll have to catch me first, Master Hugh," he said, grinning mischievously, and added, "Besides..."

Walker quirked and eyebrow, waiting.

"... she were no maid." He ran off to saddle the horses.

Walker knew he would soon need to harness the lad's recklessness before it displaced his raw, natural-born talent and consumed all the discipline he had tried to impart. He would find a moment to speak with the boy, man-to-man, as it were, as soon as he returned.

He made his way across the fog-shrouded stable yard, to the lodging house. The sound of raised voices drifted to the street. He sighed, rubbed at his brow, and made his way above stairs. He paused with his hand on the latch.

"You're being a child! It is past time you gave up your silly dreams and focused on mastering the wifely arts."

"Keep your cursèd stitchery. I have no intention of being a wife!"

On the other side of the heavy wooden door, he could almost hear his eldest, Daniela, rolling her eyes. He could picture her pose, feet squarely planted on the floor, hands resting solidly on her hips, and a frown marring her lovely face. "Adele," he prayed quietly to his dead wife, "that's what you get for leaving me alone to raise two headstrong daughters." With a sigh of resignation, he pressed the latch.

The small room was in ruins. The bed hangings dangled askew. A prie-Dieu in the corner, had been toppled over. A stocking hung by a snag from one of the timbers. Gowns spilled out of an upended chest, and shoes, recent projectiles by all appearances, lay strewn about the space. In the middle of the floor lay a tangled nest of yarn and tattered bits of linen. "What happened here?" Hugh asked, "Did a band of rampaging Turks come a-pillaging?"

"Father, tell her!"

"Tell her what, Daniela?," Hugh asked gravely. "What is amis?"

"Tell Annie she can't be a knight!"

"I take it you've tried telling her already. By the wreckage of these lodgings, I'm assuming she didn't take it to well."

"Papa, don't mock me!"

"I'm not mocking you, my sweet. Annie is still very young. She's barely ten-and-five. She'll come to her senses when the right lad comes to court her."

"I will not, Papa! I care nothing for suitors. I want to be a knight."

"Papa, tell her. She could make a good marriage. I've seen how Dario the Glover eyes her when she passes his stall. There are at least a dozen other lads who might court her, were they not affeared that she'd fillet them with that silly sword you gave her. If only we were to go to Court," Daniela said, wistfully, "then she'd learn proper manners..."

"We are simple merchants, my dear. We have no business at court."

"But you know people, Papa. Could you not make inquiries?"

"I could, but not tonight. We must leave. Pack up your belongings, and, for the love of God, set this room aright. We leave in an hour.

"Where are we going, Papa?" Annie, the younger sister asked, glad of the reprieve.

"I've receive news of a profitable venture in Austria. We must leave at once."

"Are we traveling with you this time, Papa. I could help you. I'm a fast rider. You said so yourself. Plus, I'm good at figures, and skilled at languages."

"Aye, you're all that and more, my sweeting, but not this time, Annie. I must travel quickly, on roads that are treacherous, even for amazons as yourself."

"Master Hugh," Benjamin called from outside. "The horses are ready."

"Benjamin will take you stay with an old friend of mine near Foissy. You will be safe in her care. I'll join you there as soon as my business is done. A month, two at the most, and we shall be together once more."

"But, Papa..." Annie begged.

"And then mayhap, the fairs of Paris?"

This got both girls' attention, as he knew it would. He gently lifted Annie's face towards his own, and broke out is a wide grin. "Do not think to sway me with your doe-eyed entreaties. The matter is settled. You and your sister ready yourselves while I go below stairs and settle our accounts with the landlady. Benjamin will come up in a moment for your chests."

The girls were soon ready. They waited by their mounts, hooded, cloaked and booted for the long journey. A third horse waited tethered to a hitching post, while Benjamin stood a short distance behind with his own mount and a smaller pack horse.

Hugh stepped up quietly to the lad, and drew a folded and sealed square of parchment from beneath the folds of his cloak. "You will give this letter to the Prioress at Foissy. It concerns the girls and their futures should I fail to return."

"But Master Hugh -"

"Hush!" he hissed, drawing the boy into the shadows. "I would not have you worry my daughters. They know nothing of my true employment. I would that it remained so."

He shot a look at his girls. They had heard nothing. Daniela, sensing his gaze upon her, looked 'round, and smiled warmly. Daniela, tall and refined, with a calm beauty that would bring her a fine husband one day. He would interrogate her suitors himself, and if he could not, would entrust the task with some who would. Annie stood in stark contrast next to her sister, her quivering excitement barely contained. It was always thus. Even on this foggy, wintry night, even journeying into the unknown, the thrill of the adventure set Annie's features alight. His Annie, smaller than her sister, but quick and strong, with a fierce intelligence that burned in her eyes. Annie who, as a small girl, had stubbornly set it in her head that she should grow up to become a knight. He saw much of himself in her, to his great consternation. He would do all in his power to spare her the trials of a life such as his.

A quiet cough interrupted his musings. "Master Hugh?"

"Benjamin, I have every intention of returning as soon as this business is done. I am trusting you to see the girls to safety."

"You may trust me to see your girls and your message safely delivered to Foissy, Master Hugh. Do you go into danger?"

"I never court danger intentionally." He drew out a second letter. "And once you've brought the girls to Foissy, you will take this message to England. You will take it to the Earl and Countess of Langley. Their lands lay a half-day's easy ride from London. They will be your masters, and you will serve them as you have served me until I return."

"Aye, Master Hugh."

He took the reins from his apprentice, stepped in closer, and grabbed the lad's ear. "And see to it that you keep your honeyed words and lecherous paws to yourself, lad. I took you as my apprentice as a favor to your father when you knocked up the tanner's lass, but I'll send you back without a second thought should you do anything... anything at all to aggrieve my daughters. And if you do, you will live out your days as a mercer, selling bits of cloth and mending tunics in a backroom your father's shop, dodging the fathers, brothers and cuckolded husbands who would gladly geld you. Understood?"

"A..Aye, Master Hugh," Benjamin stammered.

"I'll hold you to your word, lad, as you may hold me to mine." At that he mounted and turned to his daughters. "Be well, girls! Safe journeys. We will meet again by Twelfth Night." He wheeled his horse around, and disappeared in the fog.

_To be continued_

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_So far we've met Arthur, Ben, Danielle, and Annie. In the next chapters, we get a little more exposition, and spend a little more time with Arthur, Ben, Annie, Danielle, and a few more familiar faces. _

_Please let me know what you think._


	3. Chapter Two

**_Author's Note: _**_Thanks for all the lovely reviews and encouraging words. On this Thanksgiving evening, please know that I am truly grateful to each one of my readers, whether you review, follow, favorite or simply read my stories. Thank-you. And now, for something to do on a Thursday evening..._

**Chapter Two: November, The Year of Our Lord 1192**

The basilica and its outer buildings were dark. A torch burned by the postern gate. Beyond that, only occasional candles guided the priests and monks to their night time devotions. Quietly, Arthur shut the door behind him, Keeping to the shadows, he made his way past the kitchen and brew houses, through the cloisters, till he reached the guest rooms.

He tapped twice quietly with his knuckle on the chamber door, waited a moment, then twice again.

It swung open and slammed against the opposite wall. "Where the devil have you been?"

"In town."

"Have you taken leave of your senses? You might have been seen, recognized."

"Hush! Cease your bellowing. Someone will recognize you by your temper, for certes." He glanced over his shoulder and entered the room. "I was safe enough. I took precautions. Besides, I'm not the one with my profile stamped on every English coin. Even if I was seen, which I wasn't, there are none here who would recognize me."

"They might have seen you with me."

"And taken me for your groom or blacksmith. We look nothing alike." He emptied a leather sack on to the narrow cot. Bread, a wheel of cheese, a flask of wine, and a few wrinkled apples. "A feast fit for a king. Eat, dear brother. It may sweeten your temper."

Richard grunted his approval as he attacked the loaf. "God's teeth, but I was starving," he said through a mouthful of bread. "I thought I'd die with naught but bread and potage."

"You're spoiled, Richard."

"'Fraid so. 'What's the word among the folk of the town?"

Arthur took a swig from the bottle. "That a ship foundered on the rocks. The scavengers in the alehouse were complaining that she hadn't been worth their time or effort."

"Survivors?"

"Not worth the time or effort either. There are rumors of a few bedraggled men seeking refuge in the church, soldiers returning from Palestine. Not an unusual in these parts. No rumor of England's king."

"We cannot stay here long. One more day at the most, and then we must leave. Would that we had a map."

Arthur gave a wry smile and quietly unlaced the leather bag in which he'd brought the supplies. With a dramatic flourish he released the ties and shook the bag flat. "I thought you might say that."

The inner surface of the now-flattened bag revealed a delicately scribed map, complete with roads, realms and features. For once, Richard was speechless.

"Impressed?"

"You're always full of surprises, Arthur. Where in Christendom did you find this?"

"In the church library. I doubt they'll miss it before the next party of pilgrims comes through." He flattened the map, and with his finger, traced a river's course. "This is where we are," he said, pointing at a spot near the coast of the Adriatic. "And this road here will lead us straight to Toulouse, and back to the safety of your mother's lands."

Richard gave a non-committal grunt. He studied the map more closely. "What of this road here?" he said at length.

"It would take us too far north and into to Bohemia, Conrad's nephew Bretislaus rules there. Trust me. He is no friend of England's."

"Then that's exactly where we should go."

"Are you mad?"

"Did you not teach me to always do the unexpected? Set your mind at ease, brother. No one will look for me there. They will expect me to take the shortest route to Aquitaine."

"And if you're caught? All of Christendom has been looking for you since we escaped the Corsairs. Most want only to ransom you, but the Dukes of Bohemia and of Austria, they want your head on a platter."

"My mind is made up. Let Will and Baldwin know we leave at first light."

"I think you're making a grave mistake."

"You need not come with me. Run away home, If you fear capture."

"And leave you to bluster and blunder your royal arse into a Bohemian prison? You've no skill at stealth. Even as a lad, you were always getting caught."

"And I always managed to sweet talk my way out of trouble. "

"Good luck trying to charm Bretislau with your fine manners. The man is a barbarian."

"Then you must come with me and keep my whereabouts secret."

"I always do," Arthur answered with a weary sigh. "Little Brother, a long time ago, our father brought me to your cradle. He shoved me to my knees and made me vow to protect you. No matter what. When I made that vow, I did not know you would grow up to be such an arrogant, pompous ass."

"So that means we travel together. Excellent! Find us some horses that we may leave here at first light."

"Anon, my liege. We shall leave, together, and hope that your recklessness does not get us all killed."

* * *

Hugh Walker watched the tavern door. Three hours he'd waited in the cold, hiding behind a wall of the smithy, while Richard, his half-brother Arthur of Langley, and their two attendants ate and drank by the fire of the town's only alehouse.

Town? Ha! That was too noble a designation for such a poor assembly of dwellings. A smithy, a tavern, a few stone huts, and the small Benedictine monastery that gave the town its name. The monks offered shelter for the night, but their welcome must have been lacking, for the four travelers were soon out in search of heartier fare.

Walker had followed at a discreet distance, leaving a chalk mark on the monastery wall where Langley would have to be blind to miss it. Then he waited. They stumbled out as the chapel bell was ringing Compline. In spite of his attempt to pass for a pilgrim, Richard stood out like a stallion in a herd of goats. Even now, when they should be avoiding notice, he was waving a torch aloft and singing a bawdy song of his own composition. Langley was more wary, and urged him to be quiet. He scanned the narrow street and peered into the shadow. They were almost at the monastery gate, when Langley suddenly stopped, looked around, then hurried to meet his companions.

He couldn't make out the words he spoke, but laughter followed him as he returned to the alehouse. Walker met him there.

"What, in God's name, are you doing here?"

"I could ask the same of you."

"I am trying to keep my royal brother from getting himself captured. He's is being an ass. Richard has put it in his head that he'll be safer traveling home through the lands of his enemies. Never mind that the journey is twice as long or that all of Christendom is looking for him. He wanted to see the Alps. He wants to go to Vienna, then sail up the Danube and thus travel westward. The man is a fool."

"Not such a fool. Everyone is searching for him along the southern route. No one would think to look for him here."

"Looking or not, they'll find him soon enough. He is rather conspicuous. How did you find us?"

"One of my informants spotted you in Acquileia. I don't suppose you can persuade your royal brother to be more stealthy?

"Why, yes, of course, Hugh. I'll get to it as soon as I persuade the Thames to reverse its course, and the sun to rise in the West."

"What do you want me to tell the Queen?"

"What I just told you. Find some more diplomatic way if you wish." Arthur paused and leaned in more closely. "I suspected you were following us. Two weeks at least."

"You're lying. I found your trail no more than ten days ago in Klagenfurt." He set a coin on the table. "Your squire paid a smith to put a new edge on his sword. Paid him with a bezant. One does not often see Byzantine coins in these parts."

"How will you get word to the Queen?"

"There's a merchant I know in Vienna. He can get a message to England. As for Richard, if he truly intends to travel through his enemies' lands, I'll make sure the Queen knows, and then I'll set up a secure perimeter about him."

"He'll never accept that."

"Then he must never know."

* * *

_To be continued._

_Next chapter: Annie must make a difficult decision. And another familiar face appears._

_Thanks for reading. Please let me know what you think._


	4. Chapter Three

_Author's Note**: **Religion was central to life in Medieval Europe, hence the numerous religious references. Also, for some three hundred years following William the Conqueror's conquest of England, French was the official court language in England. I've thrown in a few French words to remind you of this fact. As you read, assume that our main characters are speaking in Norman French._

_Edited and updated._

**Chapter Three: April 1193**

"Tell me again of Jerusalem?" Sister Benedict asked Annie.

Annie smiled. Seated in a quiet corner of the cloister garden, Annie regarded the elderly nun with tenderness. The old sister had spent a life in devotion imagining a place she had never seen, and never would, save in her imagination.

"You walked its streets."

"Aye, I did, _ma soeur_." They were crowded, Annie recalled, thronging with merchants, pilgrims, and crusading knights. She recalled the wary looks of the locals, suspiciously eyeing this foreigner and his fair-haired daughters.

"You walked the same streets our Lord trod?" Sister Benedict asked, startling Annie from her memories.

"I did. My father had business there, and my sister and I visited all the holy sites." Where on every corner peddlers wanted to sell her a sliver of the True Cross, or a thorn from the Crown of Thorns, or the finger bone of some unfortunate saint, said bone bearing an uncanny resemblance to the bones piled at the back of the butchers' stalls. Still a little white lie or two would do no harm. "The streets, _ma soeur,_ were the fairest I've ever seen, and were bathed in a golden light, as if our Lord's presence still lingered there and permeated the stones."

"You are blessed indeed, dear child, to have seen such sights."

Annie gently squeezed the woman's frail hand. "I know it."

"Demoiselle Annie... Annie!" A young, plump nun came puffing 'round corner. She'd been invested into the order only a week earlier during Easter celebrations. "Demoiselle Annie..." She paused, leaning over, hands on her knees as she tried to catch her breath. "Our... Mother Abbess...wishes ... to see you."

Annie rushed to the intruder's side. "Sister Mathilde, what is it? Am I in trouble again."

She collapsed onto the bench next to the older nun. "Probably. What are you doing here?"

"I thought Sister Benedict would enjoy sitting in the fresh air for a change."

"I'll sit with her," the younger nun said, straightening her wimple. "Hurry along. It would not do to keep Mother Heloyse waiting. Perhaps it has something to do with the visitor?"

"Is it my father?"

"I know not. I was not permitted to see him. But he rides a fine horse."

Annie hesitated.

"Go! You won't find out sitting here with me," Sister Mathilde insisted. "I will see Sister Benedict back to her room."

"Go, child," Sister Benedict agreed. "This may be the day you have been waiting for. Go with God, dear girl."

Annie cast a last glance to the two nuns seated side by side on the stone bench, then raced through the cloisters to the Abbey.

She paused in the antechamber to adjust her garments. She could do little to improve the appearance of the shapeless homespun gown she wore, save to brush off the leaves and brambles that had caught along the hem. She smoothed her veil, and tucked a stray lock into its voluminous folds, then, squaring her shoulders she rapped lightly on the oak door.

"'Tis I, _ma mère_. "You wished to see me?"

"Indeed. Come in. You have a visitor." Mother Heloyse said, tilting her head towards the outer gate.

"My father has come for me?"

The abbess shook her head. "No. I am sorry, child. It is the lad who brought you and your sister here. He has a message for you."

"Benjamin?" Annie could scarcely contain herself. "Is my sister with him?"

"Of course not. Why would she be?"

True, Annie thought. Daniela had been at Vezelay only a fortnight, when she was summoned to London. Annie had received one letter on the feast day of St. Agnes, but that was almost four months ago. Perhaps Ben had brought her another letter. "May I speak with him, Reverend Mother?"

"You may, but remain within sight of the porteress. And be on your guard."

Annie frowned.

"He is a handsome lad, and I know how easily young hearts are swayed," Mother Heloyse said with uncharacteristic wistfulness. "Be on your guard," she added more sternly.

"Yes, _ma mère_." She bobbed a quick curtsy and sped away.

She slowed to a more decorous pace as she approached the gate. "Ben!" she called and stopped at the gate.

The months in England had changed him. He was taller than the lad who had escorted her and Daniela to Vezelay. His shoulders were broader, and his face, even more handsome, had lost the last traces of boyish roundness.

"Annie!" Benjamin smiled . "I was afraid they'd keep you locked away in their cloisters."

"You look well."

"You are even prettier than when I left you."

"And you are still as much of a charmer."

"How? Surely a man may compliment a comely lass."

"Surely a man would pay heed to his surroundings. Have you news of my father?" Annie asked, steering the conversation to safer ground.

Benjamin's face grew serious. "No, and that is partly why I'm here. I was hoping you might now something of his whereabouts. But I can tell by your face that you haven't. The guild is concerned."

Annie eyed her father's former apprentice. His clothing, the sword at his side, the spurs at his heels, all this spoke a station far removed from that of a humble mercer and wool-trader's apprentice. "You seemed to have done well for yourself in my father's absence."

"I am squire to a powerful knight of the realm. Soon you may address me as Sir Benjamin."

"You've abandoned my father to become a knight?"

Benjamin reached through the gate and grasped her hands. "Annie, if I do this, it is better to serve him. He takes too many risks, traveling alone with his daughters and all his wares. I have no head for commerce, but I have a strong arm. I want to learn all I can to protect him on his travels. To protect you and your sister."

"Have you seen Daniela? Do you know if she is well?"

Benjamin smiled. "I have seen her, and, aye, she is well and happy. She is service to Queen Eleanor, herself. But don't take my word for it." He reached into his belt pouch and withdrew a folded square of parchment.

"From Daniela?"

Ben's smile broadened as he watched Annie's eyes race across the page.

"She is betrothed? So soon?" To an apothecary? Do you know him?"

"Yes, yes, yes, and yes," Ben teased in reply. But Annie was immersed in her sister's letter. He waited for her to finish. He watched her face.

As she reached the end, Annie's eyes grew wide. "Is this all true, Benjamin?"

"What cause would your sister have to lie. She wants you to join her in London. She would haveyou there with her on her wedding day."

"I would not miss it for all the world, but..." Annie's face fell, "But I am to stay here until my father comes for me."

Ben nodded. "That does make things more difficult. Lucky for you that I have another letter. One for your reverend mother, from the Queen."

"The Queen writes to the abbess on my behalf? Why? She does not even know me."

"Mayhap. Nevertheless, I would suggest that you give this letter to the abbess. I shall return tomorrow for the Reverend Mother's answer."

Annie reached through the bars of the gate and took her old friend's hands. "Thank-you, Benjamin. Come again tomorrow for your answer."

Benjamin bowed deeply. "Every second shall be as an hour."

Annie laughed in reply. "Save it for the tavern wenches, Ben."

* * *

"Do you know who writes to me on your behalf, Annie?"

Annie nodded. "Queen Eleanor, _ma mère._"

"And you know why she writes to me?"

"Because my sister is in her service?"

The response seemed to come as a surprise. "Maybe so." She set the letter down. "Annie, have you considered your future?"

"Until this winter, I had little cause to. All my life I traveled the trade routes with my father. I believed it would always be thus. Now, I'm not so sure, " she said an paused, staring at the letter. "Mother Heloyse, does the Queen mention my father?"

"Only that he is a good man who has rendered occasional service to the Crown."

"What kind of service?"

"She does not say, though merchants are known, upon occasion to carry messages from one court to another."

"Is he in London now?"

"Her Majesty makes no other mention of him." The abbess regarded her young charge closely. "Annie, the Queen wishes to know whether you would marry, or if you would prefer a life of devotion and contemplation here at Vezelay."

Annie felt the blood drain from her face. Her tongue turned to sand as she struggled to find the right words. "I... Does the... Are those my only choices?"

"What else would you do? You cannot travel the trade routes alone. The world is a dangerous place for a maid, especially one as comely as yourself." She scanned the letter again. "Should you wish to enter this house as a novice, the Queen has offered to pay a modest dowry until such time as your father returns from his travels."

Annie stood with her head bowed, fighting to quell the mounting dread as Mother Heloyse listed the many merits of life at Vezelay. Annie felt the stone walls closing in on her. "I do not mean to be ungrateful, Reverend Mother. You and the sisters here have been most kin, but what if I do not wish to become a nun?"

"Though I hesitate to speak for Queen Eleanor, doubtless she would find you a position among her ladies, until a suitable match can be found. I imagine the offer of a dowry remains." Mother Heloyse rose stiffly. With slow steps she came to Annie's side. "Let us walk a little bit in the gardens. The sun will do us both good. Let us see if the crocuses are in bloom."

Side by side they strolled through the gardens, the abbess pointing out the virtues of the herbs and flowers that would soon burst into life, Annie telling of where she had seen them growing wild, and of their uses in the distant lands she had visited. The crocuses were indeed in bloom. Heloyse sat on a stone bench, while Annie kneeled by the flower bed, running her hands through the delicate blossoms.

"A few days more," the abbess said, "and this entire bed shall be in bloom. A few days after that, and Sister Augustine will come harvest them.

"In the Eastern plains, the healers make a tea with the crushed petals," Annie added. "It is said to alleviate melancholy."

"The crocus has many curative virtues," the older woman agreed. "The stamens can be brewed into a tea that slows the wasting sicknesses. Many of our older sisters here add it to their food to ward off forgetfulness. Myself, I brew it into a tea, and drink it every day, though whether it has slowed the ravages of age, I cannot say."

"Is there a tea to induce forgetfulness instead?"

"Do not wish to forget your former life, Annie. Even our regrets serve as lessons."

Annie rose, brushed the soil from her gown, and sat next to the abbess. "I wish I was of a temper that I could stay here and be content_, ma mère_. This is a good place. But I am not ready. Perhaps if I had not seen so much of the world, I would not wish to know what awaits around the next bend or lies beyond the next hilltop. If I had not traveled to distant lands, I would not crave the lilt of foreign voices."

"I know something of the thoughts that are coursing through your mind, for they coursed through my own when I was but a year or two older than you are now. The thought of watching my youth slip away behind a cloister's walls filled me with despair. But in time, I realized this life offered me a freedom I might never have known had I remained in the world."

Annie nodded. "I've spent hours in the library. I've seen the good the sisters do. How the porteress scowls at the village children playing by the gate, but slips them honeycakes, and apples, and how she clothes half the town's poor with her knitting. I've watched as Sister Mathilde, on the coldest days, brings a warm food and a flask of warm cider to Perrin the Beggar, and watched Sister Clothilda patiently teaching orphan girls how to spin and weave so that they might earn a living wage and make their own dowries. I too would do good. I too would dedicate my life to service."

"But not here."

"Not yet. One day perhaps, but not now. I am sorry."

Heloyse smiled and took Annie's hands in her own. "Do not apologize. This life is not for everyone. God surely has a different purpose for you. Only, know this, that you will always have a place here, should you ever wish to return." She rose from her seat.

"Thank-you, Reverend Mother."

"Come, child. Together we shall pen a letter to the Queen. And then we must assemble your belongings, choose a gift for Her Majesty, and find you a suitable chaperone."

"A chaperone? Why? I've know Benjamin for years. He is as a brother to me."

"Yes, a chaperone. I'll not be swayed on this matter. I've seen how he watches you. I daresay he views you as more than a sister."

Benjamin? Annie thought. She'd never thought of him in any way other than her father's apprentice. His charming ways were no more than harmless flirting, were they not?

"Annie? Are you listening to me?" the abbess said from some distance down the path. "Come along."

"Yes, ma mère."

* * *

"I'll pray for you, dear child," Mother Heloyse had said waving off the party off three weeks earlier. She might have done better praying for clear skies, Annie thought as she rode through the muddy Surrey countryside. Up and over another chalk hill, with yet another waiting ahead.

"God go with you, Demoiselle Annie," Sister Benedict's dwindling figure had called just before disappearing from view. Well, the Heavenly Father had chosen to remain on His golden throne. Instead, Sister Mathilde rode pillion, clinging tightly to Annie's waist, only releasing her hold now and then to wipe her runny nose.

The young nun was not accustomed to long journeys. She'd once made a pilgrimage to Chartres to view the sacred relics there, but a three-week odyssey to lands unknown had depleted her enthusiasm.

The sweet-tempered jennet she'd ridden out of Vezelay had pulled up lame two days into the journey. She'd been violently ill on the Channel crossing, and had remained below decks curled around a bucket for the duration. And now, with three straight days of rain, Sister Mathilde had caught a cold.

Benjamin was visibly impatient at the plodding pace, and he cantered ahead until he was almost out of view. He'd been out of sorts since the eve of their departure, when Mother Heloyse had summoned him to her study and delivered the letter and a strict set of instructions. The weather and delays had done nothing to sweeten his disposition.

Mother Heloyse's words echoed in Annie's mind, and often when she thought he wasn't looking, she would steal glances in his direction only to blush and look away when he caught her staring. Perhaps once they were settled in London, she would corner him and tell him of the abbess' suspicions.

A powerful sneeze at her back drew Annie back to the present. It surprised Bakır, Annie's sorrel gelding as well, and he stopped, stock still in the middle of the road. "I feel a need to stretch my legs," Annie announced. "I'm certain Bakır will appreciate the lighter load." She coaxed him to a walk.

"But what if he rears or runs off?" Mathilde asked between sniffles, her eyes wide in alarm. "I've no strength to hold so large a beast."

Annie patted the "Have no fear, _ma soeur_. I'll walk alongside, holding his reins, while you grab hold of his mane for balance."

Any reply Sister Mathilde might have made was cut off by Benjamin's enthusiastic return. "We're almost there, ladies," he said, beaming. From the top of this hill we can see London."

* * *

London was all that Annie remembered from her childhood, and more. For the past three hours, as they traveled the last leagues, the traffic to and from the city had grown steadily heavier, with carts, barrows, riders and walkers clogging Watling Street_. _Hawkers moved in and out of the crowd, selling pies and flasks of ale. As they drew even closer to the capital, fields were replaced by homes, inns, and shops until the travelers found themselves surrounded by city dwellings. Overhanging the narrow streets, shopkeepers' homes leaned drunkenly on their timbers, their cantilevered upper stories almost meeting over the middle of the narrow streets, casting the streets below in shadow.

"Oh," Sister Mathilde whimpered, "how can people bear to live in so crowded a place, amid such noise and tumult, where even the sky is hidden from view? And the streets, so narrow and twisted, for certes we shall lose our way."

"I will not lose us, _ma soeur,_" Ben replied. "I grew up but a few streets away from here, and _Demoiselle_ Annie's family lived on Cloth Fair street just over there," he said pointing into the distance. "We both know every lane, every path and thoroughfare."

"I could never dwell in such an awful place," the young nun said, and tightened her grip around Annie's middle.

"It wasn't so bad," Annie shrugged. It was all the home she'd known until her mother had died of a fever, and her father had taken his daughters on the road. Her travels had taken her to many cities since she had left London, but the sights, the sounds, and aye, even the smells of the city cheered her heart.

The Vespers bells were tolling over London, when they were waved into the Tower. Annie could not help but be impressed by the expediency with which the gatekeepers admitted them after Benjamin announced he was on a mission from Queen Eleanor herself.

He spurred his horse to a canter and entered the inner bailey with a clatter of hooves on cobbles. Mathilde gave a yelp of alarm as Annie did the same. Benjamin dismounted with a flourish, swinging sprightly from the saddle and calling out a greeting to a pair of men standing on the steps.

Annie took Benjamin's offered hand, as he helped her dismount. Not that she needed it. His courtesy would better have aided poor Sister Mathilde, who was sliding off Bakır's rump, with her habit riding up about her plump, mud-spattered knees.

"Is Daniela here?" Annie asked as she took a quick look around the courtyard. But Benjamin was already halfway across the courtyard.

"You must be _Demoiselle_ Annie. Hugh Walker's lass?" a deep voice said right behind her.

She spun round in surprise, and found herself face-to-face with a tall stranger, with dark, tousled hair, laughing eyes, and a brilliant smile. "Er... yes, I am. Do you know me?"

"I do now, _ma demoiselle_." He grinned even more broadly. Shifting the long staff he carried from his right hand to his left, and held out his hand. Surprised by this show of courtesy, Annie lightly set her hand in his. He bowed low, kissed her knuckles, and straightened. "Sir August Fitz Andreu at your service, m'lady. I have come to escort you to Her Majesty, if you will follow me."

"What of my companion, Sir August?" Sister Mathilde is weary and unwell. We cannot leave her here."

Sister Mathilde sneezed as to emphasize the point.

Sir August's eyes grew wide. Embarrassment colored his cheeks. "My apologies, _ma bonne soeur_," he said avoiding eye contact. "I did not see you there. Now if you will both follow me, I shall lead our good sister to the infirmary, and you, _ma demoiselle, _ to the Queen." With that, he made a sharp turn to the left, and swinging his staff before him, he made his way towards the keep.

Annie and Sister Mathilde exchanged looks of surprise. "Good heavens," Mathilde said, crossing herself, "the poor lad is blind."

* * *

_Author's Note: Mother Heloyse is very loosely based on Héloïse d'Argenteuil, who was for a time. Abbess at very real abbey of Vezelay in the French town of Foissy. Héloïse d'Argenteuil is best known for her scandalous affair with the scholastic philosopher Peter Abelard, but was also a respected scholar in her own right, and one of the great "uppity" women of the Middle Ages._

_Next time, a bad day in Bohemia._

_Thanks for reading. Please review._


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